He was answered in turn by a ruder suggestion. Then they were nearing the cellars, and Gedaern hissed them to silence.
Xanther waited and waited, but there came no further sound. He'd heard the wizard-one of Manshoon's killers, if his memory held right-muttering, and then the faint scrape of a boot on stone. Then, only silence.
Xanther carefully emptied one scroll tube into his lap and felt about until his fingers closed on the cold hardness of the gem. He knew what it must be, given the three words written on the inside of the scroll tube's cap that he'd read earlier, and closed his eyes as he spoke the first of those words.
The prism-shaped gem gave forth a cone of pale light. Good; he'd chosen the right word. By its light, he saw that the cesspool and its surroundings were empty of all people.
Hmm. "Between the two bumps," the wizard had said, and intimated that passage between them was critical to avoid falling into the cesspool. Xanther put away the tube's contents again, except for the handy gem, and got up. Two bumps, on the edge of the cesspool…
There was a sudden sound behind him. A muffled thud-no, a flurry of such sounds. The thudding of booted feet coming quickly down stone steps and along the echoing passage. Dalefolk!
Xanther hurried toward the stinking pool, eyes searching frantically. Ah-there! Two bumps!
He eyed the reeking pool and sighed. He'd have preferred time to make sure of the route before stepping out over that.
The sounds grew louder, and he heard the unmistakable voice of one of the men in leathers who'd fought Stormcloak in the great hall.
Xanther sighed again, and stepped out from the edge. The light in the cavern abruptly went out.
"A light!"
"Where?"
"Gone now, sir, but there was light here a moment ago, I tell thee!"
Throw your torch forward," Belkram ordered. "Those with bows to the fore, but no one advances until I give word."
He and Itharr looked each other over quickly. "Got a dagger or two, besides your blade?"
Itharr nodded. "As usual." He grinned as he added, "I think it's your turn to go first."
"My thanks," Belkram told him in dry tones and darted forward, keeping low. He crouched near the guttering torch, peering around intently, then beckoned them with a wave.
What could be seen of the dark, foul-smelling cavern was empty. In the center of the cracked, uneven stone floor was the cesspool, its surface still. Itharr waved the men with torches toward the far reaches of the place, to light up every niche and corner.
He and Belkram exchanged glances and nodded. "A gate, without doubt. We have to enter it in exactly the right way, or we'll never find it."
"That could take days," Belkram sighed.
"It could," came a voice from behind them. "But if you'll allow me to show you the way, it can take you but a moment."
They all turned. In the passage behind them, the fat weaver, Jatham, stood in his night robe, holding a hand lamp and regarding them calmly.
Gedaern's eyes narrowed. "You-"
"Serve Thay? Aye. I thought Elminster might tell you." The weaver watched the frowning daleman come toward him and added, "I'd like to make a deal with you, Gedaern."
"Oh, aye? And what sort of deal could you and I come to?"
"You let me live, to leave the dale peacefully with my possessions on the morrow. In return, I tell you all I know of the other councillors' loyalties and doings, and show these two Harpers the gate they seek."
"Just let you go, after all you've done? Why-"
"Or you could thank me. Most of what I've done, this last year or so, is work against the spells and schemes of the Zhentarim as much as I could. My efforts have kept many in the dale alive, even some here in this cellar now."
"How could you save lives and trick wizards? Aye? Tell me that!"
Jatham spread his hands. In the gesture, his left hand let go of the oil lamp, and it hung motionless in the air in front of him, its flame flickering slightly. "With my own magic, of course," he said mildly. "It's not much, but it's enough to make any thoughts of slaying me or driving me out of the dale very, very foolish indeed."
Gedaern eyed the weaver suspiciously. He darted a glance to the two Harpers. They looked back at him expressionlessly and spread their hands to signal their indecision.
Gedaern frowned. "What's to keep you from blasting us all with your magic the moment we go to bed, then?"
"I am," said another voice from behind the weaver.
Jatham turned quickly. "You should not have come down, love. This is not safe."
"It was necessary," Ulraea told him crisply. Her eyes were lined with sleep, and her unbound hair hung in wild tangles about her, but she drew herself up in her tattered nightdress proudly and regarded Gedaern with what seemed almost like a challenge in her eyes. "Jatham is mine, Ged. I know him as no other in this dale, and I tell you he has not worked against us of the dale while Longspear lorded it over us, and will not do so this night. If you must, set a guard in our room tonight."
Gedaern stared at her, openmouthed. It was several long breaths later that he visibly remembered to swallow. "Ulla?" he said at last, voice cracking. "Y-you… love him? You'll go with him?"
Ulraea nodded, eyes on his. "If you'll let me." She looked around at them all. "If you're so fearful of what my Jath will do with his magic, guard me-and take my life if he works ill."
Jatham reached for her involuntarily. "No!" he cried, in an anguished voice.
"No," Gedaern's voice overrode his, loud and flat. "It won't be necessary. Go back to your beds, both of you, after you show us this gate and tell us where it leads. If you'll do that, we have a deal."
He sheathed the notched, scarred sword he bore and walked slowly to where the weaver stood. He raised his hand, palm out, standing nose to nose with the Thayan agent.
Jatham did the same, and slowly they both brought their hands down to touch each other's chest in the old dale custom. A bargain was made. Both men nodded solemnly.
Then Jatham said briskly, "The gate can only be entered by stepping out over the cesspool from a certain place, the spot between the two little humps of stone, on this side-see, here? It will take you across half Faerun to the far edge of Anauroch, the Great Desert. Those who go through reach a central hall in an old, ruined castle, a place they call Spellgard today. It's a one-way journey, and the castle has a fell reputation. I recommend that those who love the High Dale not take the gate. The way between there and here is long, and not safe."
"That's our road, then," Itharr said quietly.
Belkram nodded and said, "Our thanks, Jatham… and Gedaern, and all of you, for risking your necks again this night. May the High Dale know peace for a good long time now. We must leave you in haste, for we're charged to follow Elminster and keep him safe."
Jatham raised an eyebrow. "May I ask why?"
The two Harpers exchanged a look. Belkram shrugged. "The one who set us this duty told us it was the most important task in the Realms. Elminster of Shadowdale must live-or, I fear, even gods will fall."
In the shocked silence that followed, the two young men saluted their fellows-in-arms with raised blades, nodded a special farewell to Gedaern, and without hesitation marched out over the cesspool.
In midstep above the mire, with all eyes on them, they vanished. Itharr and Belkram were tired, hurt, and walking into unknown danger. But they strode ahead without pause, for they were Harpers.
Spellgard was tall and dark and gloomy. Mushrooms and luminescent mosses grew here and there about its empty stone chambers. There was no sign of life. Even the torn, dusty cobwebs seemed to have been spun long ago by spiders now vanished. Yet there was a curious presence about the place, a silent, waiting feel as if something unseen were watching. They went on in silence.